


Luther: The Profile

by raditus



Category: Luther (TV), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Trigger Warning: Drunk on Job, Trigger Warning: Self Blame, Trigger Warning: Shouting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raditus/pseuds/raditus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new American volunteer has to sit and bear the frustration of a certain recalled DSU when his questions for a personality profile of DCI John Luther bear no fruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The entire POV is from the volunteer working in the division. 
> 
> This story is sometime after DS Ripley gets killed. In difference to the parent Luther reality, George actually is brought into the department, and not stuck hanging out in the basement of a closed Eatery. He never gets to use Mary as bait, thus does not get murdered by Marwood. 
> 
> This story has no actual appearance of John Luther, Alice Morgan, Tom Marwood, nor DS Justin Ripley – save for mentions. 
> 
> Olly Reeder appears for a quick camo from In the Thick Of It. Glen is mentioned in a way as well.

I came to my flat in Robin Hood Gardens, tossing the flat keys on a nearby formica counter-top. It was a small place, and I had no care for the talk that a woman had been slaughtered in my flat, the dressed strangely – not even when my landlord quickly replaced the whole bed before I moved in. A flat was for living. 

I had money in my bank in America for awhile, this was the only reason I was even allowed to visit the UK, them being strict -and rightly so- over a certain amount of money being held in your bank account over a certain time frame. I still was breaking the law, technically, as I looked for a job when I landed. It was a volunteer job though, no pay, which I was sure this was the reason I was allowed to take it. I knew I needed enough 'job cred' for when I was allowed to get a paid job. 

My job was at a police department, the Serious and Serial Crime Unit , headed by Martin Shenk, who used to work solely for Police complaints, but now was Detective Superintendent – thus now my boss. I had no troubles with this, but I pitied the idiots who did bad. Shenk seemed bumbling, not in a fool's way but in a grandfatherly way. This tripped up people who underestimated him as his mind was as sharp as fresh, live steel! 

The phone rang, jarring me from my thoughts. “Great, “ I muttered in sharp contempt when I saw the ID was displaying the number for the police. I was clocked out, the hell did they mean, calling my flat. Then I felt regret; Maybe there was an officer down, just like what I had heard stories of what happened to DS Justin Ripley. He seemed cute enough, from his photo. I only wished I had met him before coming to work for the department. 

“Yes, may I help you?” I asked into the receiver, putting on an air of fake can-do attitude that I learned from a job years ago, that you had to show all of the time on the job. 

“Orlando.” It was Shenk, saying my name in more of a mission statement and less confirming this was who he was speaking with. From this, I knew the call was about something bad. 

Only I could screw up even this job. I thought before replying, “Boss, what's up? Anything wrong?” 

“DSU George Stark is calling everyone in. He's doing interrogations to create a personality profile of DS John Luther for his records.” I wanted to snigger at the words personality profile, never getting over the mental image that it should have been for an online dating ad than a folder on some Curmudgeon's desk! “Terry, are you still there?” 

“Yes boss, what to do you need me to do?”

“He's calling everyone in, this even means you. You need to get down here.” He finished out, harried, “Don't take your time; George will not tolerate people wasting his.” 

Even as his last words stung as I hung the phone up, I never wasted my time, I realized what had happened immediately. This other DSU must have been right in Martin's office when he was on the phone to me. Also, to take another term I heard used years ago from a police department in Baltimore Maryland, this whole Marwood case, plus the slaughtering of Ripley was considered a red ball. In other words, the Tom Marwood is a high-profile case that drew media and political attention. Everyone would have been at it anyway, but with this Stark's involvement, even more people would have to show up. 

So it was because of this that I was riding in a cab with some other guy named Oliver, who needed to be let off in the same general area as me. He was six feet, topped by a curly mop of black hair tamed only just-so by some hair product. 

He was chattering on his cell to some guy. He paused briefly to mutter to me, “Wow, you look bloody knackered. Are you alright?” 

“I am being called back into work, an hour after I got off that very same work.” I shrugged, “Some guy I never met, with the name of George Stark did the calling in.” 

Oliver looked concerned, then spoke into his phone, “Glen? Hey, Glen? Didn't you know some copper years ago? A George Stark?” He nodded, then replied, “Oh, your best mate did?” He winched, eying me with sympathy. “Really? No, that's it for now, bye.” 

When he rang off, I chanced to ask him, “Any news?”

“This Stark was a bull in the china shop back in his day, thundering over people's feelings in his cases – not really caring if he did or not.” 

My heart plummeted – I was just a new hire for Chrissakes, never met John Luther for a proper one-on-one – so what the hell was going to happen to me? 

“Thanks, this is my stop anyways.” 

I paid my fair and Oliver called out even as the cab pulled away, “Good luck!” I silently agreed with Oliver; I was going to need it.


	2. The Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry finds time to work while people are being called into the room for questioning, some even for a long time. A new twist on the questioning chills everyone.

I didn't know what to expect when I first came into The Bullpen. I inwardly winced at my inward words, this wasn't Baltimore anymore and I hadn't been in years, so I had to at least try to ditch their slang. I guess I had expected this as-of-yet unmet George Stark to be just outside Martin's office, barking orders at everyone else. Instead, the place was, as usual, at it's regular pace. Except that seemed to be far fewer people.

John Luther, the famed one-and-only was nowhere to be seen. This wasn't surprising to me, as I heard on my first day in from Benny, whom everyone called “Deadhead”, that Marwood attacked and assaulted the two people bringing John in.

Martin was standing outside his office, looking unflappable, yet deeply troubled. I came up to his side. “Here I am Boss. Was there anything else extra you needed done while I'm here?” I asked this even as I stared across the way at the closed door to the interrogation room.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Martin replied. “Come with me.” We stepped into his office. “I discovered a storage box of papers soon after you left. I had intended for you to get to work for these on your next scheduled day, but since George . . . “ He trailed off, staring hard at the shuttered window, as if he had x-ray vision and could see through walls at the questioning going on. His lips went thin, he was irritated.

“So, any special way to handle these?” I asked, being professional enough not to press why he was annoyed.

“Oh yes,” He replied, snapping out of it, handing me the cardboard box. “I made the liberty of making a list of the order. Year, date, the usual.”

I took the proffered box and giving a sharp crisp nod, left Martin's office. I made my way to my desk, wonder what poor sod was locked away for so long. The box was a mess; Papers upon reams of paper not in any folders. Luckily, empty manilla folders also lay in the box was well. I eased myself down into my chair, getting to work.

“He's been in there for two hours already.” I heard someone mutter not to far away. I sharply glanced up and away, at the two people chatterinjg, obviosuly awaiting their turn.

“Who?” I asked, whispering.

“Deadhead.”

I sat back in my chair, a stunned expression across my features. Benny, in there for that long? Why was DSU Stark pressing people that long for? Wasn't this supposed to be just a profile piecing for John? I blew air out of my mouth in a slow, sturdy exhale, all the while thinking maybe I should have lied to Shenk over the phone, that I should have faked sick from Food Poisoning or something. In this, I wasn't joking; that is how badly I was starting to get anxious.

I went back to work, but shortly after, the door opened, dis-engorging a rather exhausted looking Benny. Erin Grey, who was in the room with him, stood in it's doorway, calling out a surname in a loud clear voice so that the rest of The Bullpen could hear her. The mentioned person went into room, the door shutting like a steel trap once again.

“They were doing it by alphabet.” The woman from earlier came to stand by my desk. “They were at 'C', but then jumped to Benny.”

“Silver,” I stated. “What's with Stark even calling him Deadhead?”

“Maybe he's gormless, Stark.” She put in, “Maybe he thought 'Deadhead' was actually Benny's surname.” We giggled nervously.

“No, Sue.” Another worker cut in sharply. “Stark was questioning someone earlier. He intimidated them into saying Benny's name.”

Sue and I let our mouths hang open in disbelief. “Stark's running an inquisition?” She allowed herself to ask. “Disgusting!”

Sue and the other person left my desk together, bickering slightly on how to survive the questioning when their time came. This left me with an ice-ball in my guts, the knot of worry. My dad was a worrier when he was alive, and I got that from him. But he wouldn't be turning in his grave from his one and only little girl about to be questioned about police matters in something resembling the dark ages! You see, his ashes were scattered about above the Chesapeake Bay.

I let another exhale, sounding like a steam compressor, wiping both hand hands down my face, feeling suddenly like one hundred years older.

“Blimey,” Mike Ryan exclaimed, coming up to the side of my desk. “Did you just get out of there?”

“No, why?”

“You look like it.” I shot a sharp look at Mike, who sniggered.

“Relax; I doubt you'll even be called inside.”

“Why?”

“Because you never met John.” Mike replied simply. “Stark will see that you've not been hired that long.” He added, shrugging, “If you are called in, he'll probably send you out straight away.”

I let out a thoughtful sort of sound, Mike had truthfully let me see the light in his horrible situation. “Thanks, never thought of it like that.”

“Lichtman.” Erin called out, now at the L part of the list even as Mike brought up a chair, sitting next to me. Sue responded to the surname, the room devouring her.

“So, you've been in?”

“Yeah.”

Even as I continued getting the chaotic box in order, I asked, “This Stark? How is he? I never met him before either. Shenk seems annoyed by him.”

“Stark was a bit of an . . . arse.” He amended hastily, “Not like swearing like a sailor or anything, just grouchy a bit.”

“Grouchy?”

“No, it's hard to explain. I don't know what his deal is, but between you and I, I think the others are sticking up for John. They aren't giving him jack, not really. So I think he's going to loose his kit.”

I just gaped at him, “A paper-pusher, losing his kit?” Mike shook his head.

“Not a paper-pusher. You'll see that just by looking at him. And other thing, Stark was one of the ones that Marwood assaulted.”

“You're joking!” Mike shook his head.

“God's honest truth; Talk is he got stunned by a flash bomb, then laid out. Erin was there too, she got laid out as well.”

My ice  in my guts just got worse, to the point of me nearly cramping. I decidedly thought that talking with Mike was not helping like I thought it would! “Well, with any luck, as you said earlier, maybe I won't even be on the totem pole according to Stark.”

Just then the door opened, Sue exiting, looking harried, worried. Erin stood there, calling out, “Orlando?”

“Or maybe not.” I added, feeling sick.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The questioning gets underway, only to go on a downward spiral!

If I'd told anyone that moment that I wasn't scared, I'd be lying. My guts churned and burned in that strange way they always did when a very bad situation was unfolding. This was like this, but mercifully, it wasn't like the time I got so nervous back home that it felt like I got car sick, my head feeling like it wasn't fastened properly to my body, forcing me to go to bed the rest of that day. I entered the room slowly, ducking my head around the door, like a nervous deer, hoping to catch a quick glimpse of this Stark guy. 

“Are you coming in, or are you planning on standing there until the end of the world?” The man sitting at the table gruffly commented. As I entered fully, he added, “And shut the door.” 

Not good; already had George Stark himself in a annoyed mood! To be sure, he was like this because of all the people previous, but that didn't mean I had to add to it! Erin was already seated on the opposite side of the table, next to the man. I had to force myself not to stare too hard at him even as he quickly flipped open a manilla folder, sparsely populated by papers. At first, he didn't strike me as a paper-pusher like Mike had indicated. With my own naive view on officers and dressed, it seemed he dressed far too casually. He was wearing what looked like a pair of jeans, maybe a white T-shirt. What would I know though? He could have been wearing a Wife-Beater for all I knew; His jacket was blocking the rest of the view. I thought back to my own jacket, a think impulse bought affair. I got it years ago in America because I thought it resembled something a pair of monster hunters wore on a show. 

I saw that George Stark, in some circles would have been considered handsome. Adding to this was this sort of way that bespoke also of standing his own ground when need be; It wasn't too hard to see him as being rough-and-tumble back in his younger years! As if trying to cancel out the coolness factor, he had his mouth set in a ghost of a scowl. I could see, though, that the night had already worn on his nerves, and I kind of didn't blame him. Suddenly, with too much clarity, the comment from earlier, the bull-in-a-china shop came back; This was not a man to break tough news gently – nor suffer fools!

I made myself break my eye contact, lest George caught me sizing him up; Some people take offense to that. Looking down at the folder next to Luther's very own, I happened to see that it had my name on it. I wasn't too worried, I knew it was only the usual mandatory stuff for newly hired. I knew also, that it would have been a sort of life story. I know that I hadn't done anything even resembling 'horsing around' back in America, but there were some moments I'd rather not have them pick at! Besides, anything that I needed to explain, George and Erin would mark it down, presumably using the red ink pens and highlighters already arrayed on the table.  
Within short order, the preliminaries were observed, the recording equipment turned on and introductions made. 

“Would you like some Water?” Erin asked me from her seat. 

“No thanks,” I politely declined. I didn't need it; I wouldn't have been able to keep it down! 

“Are you sure?” George asked. His voice had this slightly deep sound, also backed up by a rasping sort of tone. I noted some accent, but even though I still wasn't good with the different accents, even as I stared down at this man, I decided not to ask him! “We don't know how long it's going to take with you; You might need it.” 

“I'm sure.” 

He flicked his gaze up at me, a gauging look. When he saw that I wasn't budging from my stance, he got down to business. “It says in your file you came from America.” I nodded, once, then realized George wouldn't have seen me, still reading from the folder. 

“Yes, that's correct.” My voice squeaked out the words, trying to get them out in one rush in case George thought my silence was me not answer! This time, though, he did flick his eyes up, meeting my nervous gaze. 

“Then you moved, then got this job.” 

“How long have you held this job?” Erin asked me. I gawped at her stupidly; she was here when I first was hired! “It's for DSU Stark's reference.” She added when she interpreted my stare. 

I bit my lip thoughtfully, trying to remind myself that Stark, even being from a different department, technically would pretty much be my boss! “I was only here for a few weeks.” I shrugged, “Ask DSU Martin Shenk; He green lit it.”

“So you haven't had the . . . good fortune to meet DCI John Luther.” George had a way of turning statements into questions, apparently, and also I heard the sarcasm in his tone! 

“No; My first day came after DS Ripley got murdered by Marwood.” At Marwood's name, George did a hard stare at me. It sort of resembled the kind of stare a life-hardened dog gave something before it attacked! 

George's attack came; He came back with a question so fast I was nearly convinced he came into work with his own script! “And how did you know Marwood's name?” 

I felt my guts burning as I realized that I messed up very badly – even when I'd done nothing wrong! I felt the ice even in my veins, my face sparking with spurts of anxiety! Erin stared at me, but without the gleam George had. It seemed as if she was following protocol, not reserving judgment. 

“Who hasn't?” Without thinking, acting on nerves, I babbled, “His case is a friggin' Red Ball now, isn't it?” 

“Excuse me?” George sounded very faintly amused.  
“A Red Ball?” Then added, “What does that even mean?” 

“Sorry, a bit of American Slang.” I continued, in a bit of conversational tone this time, “From my stint from Baltimore City; Met all kinds of cool people at that place.” 

George recoiled, just so, blinking a bit in surprise, making my guts do the icy-feeling thing. How the Hell was I in trouble for saying that? 

I guess Erin saw my reaction to George's, for she added, focused on him, “She did graduation requirement level community service in a Homicide unit.” I nodded in confirmation and he jotted that down in my folder in red pen. 

“Getting back on track,” I stated, “A Red Ball means a case that turns political and everything.” 

“I'd say Marwood classifies as one, then.” George commented dryly.

“And you're asking me about Marwood's name?” I began, “I've seen that name floating by on so many pieces of paper, I can beat a scrabble game with it.” George can be flippant, so can I – in my own way, of course! Erin's response was to bite back a grin, she was lucky that George had not seen it. 

“You are aware that Marwood rescued Luther earlier, attacking DS Grey and myself?” It was as if George knew why I added that bit, his facing going even more stormy. My eyes widened at his revelation, and I knew my face had gone even more pale! 

“I heard about the attacks,” I began. “But had no clue it was a rescue.” 

“Miss, are you alight?” Erin asked, noting my pallor.

“I'm sure she is; This isn't her first show in rooms like these.” With that, George tossed my folder down, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. He gazed at me, looking down his nose at me, like he was king of the frigging hill! “Is it, Terry?” 

I gazed stupidly from Erin to George, back to Erin! I couldn't believe it; This asshole was using a false report made against me this past year, against me – all to net the mythical John Luther! 

“What's that got to do with Luther?” 

“Why don't you want to bring it to light?” George sneered. “Ashamed for lying on your application? The one where it was specifically marked down about any criminal investigations?”

“Proven ones that resulted in jail time. I might have had to sit in rooms like this, but only because of one insane neighbor.” I replied. Stark didn't seem like the type of person to like being contradicted. Who cared; He did a low blow, thus it only fair that I get a shot. “Unknown to that . . . man, I had a week worth of receipts for tax purposes. So his police complaints saying about my non-stop week-long terrorism of trying to steal his gardening implements? Booted.”  
“Non-stop terrorism?” Erin asked. Even as she did so, George smirked, no-doubt patting himself on the back for getting me worked up. A weak spot, I suppose. Screw that, let him get hang-ups forever about even hearing tires crunch on his driveway! 

“Long story, much drama.” I griped, “Short story – guy throws a fake thing around my neighborhood about me and his wheelbarrow at night.” I flicked an irritated look from Erin to George, “Add in him having shot at me with his shotgun, action packed movie material.” I added, “The credits included special scene footage of how he turned the entire area against me and mine over it.” 

“Why on Earth did he do this?” Erin gaped at me openly. 

“The asshole hated on my family so much that he was willing to make up tales to get us thrown out, locked up, dusted or all of the above.” 

“Dusted, like you lot were taking PCP?” George asked. 

“No, it's also slang in my area for getting killed. You know, as 'Another one bites the Dust'?” At least I hoped that song was about people dying; My mind flipped back to what I found out about the back-masking thing and inwardly cringed.

“And all those reports were all made-up?” Erin asked, “Every single report?” 

“Yeah. You name the agency, he bloody well hit them up.” I scowled to myself. My lip curled and I added in a growling tone that mirrored Regina Mills, the character from Once Upon A Time, ”He can sit and spin on a hot coal in Hell for all I care.” 

George, even as Erin gazed on at me, appeared to ignore the comment, sitting forward again in his seat. “Back to Luther; is there anything else you can add?” 

“I heard rumors that he tossed stuff around and flipped desks and stuff over.” I shook my head in annoyance even I remembered some of the more tawdry ones back on the first day in. “Someone even said he got mad, threw something and shattered a glass pane in the Bull Pen.” I glanced to Erin even as I added, “I swear . . .” I opened my eyes to find Geroge sitting back, waiting for me to go on, “But I don't ever remember hearing anything about him slapping his work mates around.” Babbling again, I added, “And the only time there was violence, DS Ripley – God rest his soul – hit John, not the other way around.” 

“John?” George was quick to remark. “Comfortable with suddenly using his first name, aren't you?” Crap – I said his name out loud? 

“Well in my head, I refer to people in this department by their first names. But usually, out loud, I refer to them formally – surname only.” 

George was seeming to get more antsy even as he added, “You seemed quick to jump in and point out that, as far as you knew, Luther didn't attack people in the workforce.” While he was talking, George was writing down things in Luther's folder in red pen. 

“So what?” I said a bit more harshly than I intended, making George glare up at me, his mouth tightening, making his lips in a think, annoyed line, “All I'm doing is just clearing up a few things.” I said as a statement for the room, for the equipment, but glared at George as I said it, “I was hoping I was adding something that might of value.” 

“Are you seeing John Luther?” 

George continued to stare me down, like a bull dog! This time, though, there was a terrible light coming to his eyes; The light of someone who thinks they have the car in the bag! When he asked his question, at first I didn't think I heard him correctly, then it hit me! “Are you accusing me of dating DCI Luther?” 

“No.” George grunted, “Are you sleeping with him?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hideous revelation, thunder and fury.

My face went slack, my mind felt like George shot me through the head, a sudden flash of white lights – my eyes tightening suddenly! I could feel and hear my heart suddenly hammering even more fast as if I had to suddenly take off running!

“What?” I barked, making George startle, no doubt not realizing how loud and forceful I could be if pressed! I felt my inside of my head doing the slow-twirl – just like that time back home! Unlike then, though, I had no place to rest my head nor lie down – at least not without me looking guilty! 

“Damn it, George!” Erin snapped in alarm, shooting up from her chair. “She's not looking good!” 

George snarled out at Erin even as he twisted in his seat to face her, “Sit down, DS Grey!” He held up his pointer finger stiffly and angrily at her general direction. 

“Please,” I muttered, I didn't do anything wrong, and she didn't do anything wrong.” I turned to Erin, “S'okay - just under the weather.” I'd been hoping that George at least care about that, but if anything, it fired him up even more! 

“I am getting sick and tired of everyone I've had in here sticking up for John Luther like he's a ruddy god!” He thundered, half at Erin, half at me! My mind had been surfacing, slowly going back to working as intended from the shock of being accused of something terrifyingly serious as sexual favors from a copper, never mind Luther being a potential co-worker! I sat there, like a dope, taking in George nearly bellowing his vitriol. I stared George down, hoping that my nausea would pass more quickly than the last time, when I realized something. It was only something I'd known from one time my family friend came to our place, blotto! Somehow, George has been drinking on the job – most likely between the people! 

“We need a break; you've given her a flaming break-down!” Erin hissed at George. 

“I'll have to write you up. You will be sacked for your insubordination!” He finished, thundering at Erin when she didn't take her seat. 

The words were another, horrible shock! This one, instead of giving mental fog, gave an acute stab to my heart! I reflexively gasped, throwing my hand up to my mouth in horror, tears in the back of my eyes, feeling like I was going to heave! 

“We're taking a break, and that's final.” Erin growled, seeing his treatments of us was making me even sicker! She pulled me up out of the chair, hastily shoving me out the door, following suit. 

I stormed off, unthinking, in heart-stabbing emotional turmoil – feeling quiet as if George tore me to pieces physically with his bare hands! Shenk stood outside his office, glaring at the room Erin had just tore us from, looking very angry. 

“What on God's green Earth is is going on?” He snapped. 

I pushed my way past, muttering, voice nearly sounding gruff as George's, albeit caused by unshod tears, “I'll be in the break room. Shenk could sack me, for all I cared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Showdown

I lied. 

I had not gone to the break room. I was in tatters, thus didn't want to be bothered right away. And god help him, but if I saw George right now, I would deck the man! But now, as it was, I had no leg to stand on – did I? 

I was in the ladies room, sitting on the unopened toilet in one of the stalls, long since stopped getting sick, sobbing into a large wad of tissues to muffle the sounds. No doubt's, I was a monster. And if John Luther was dead in a ditch somewhere, even if he never net me, he would be rolling in his grave after what I'd accomplished.

This wasn't about the sex thing George made up about me, in his twisted and obsessed mind. This wasn't about him being blotto - This was all on me and how I cost a grown woman her own, paid job! I sobbed harder, feeling desolate! If I'd just kept my cool and gob shut . . . 

“I'm sorry, “I'm sorry!” I whispered into those bundle of tissues, repeating them over again, like a mantra. What kind of person does that to another? And doesn't say something? Why didn't I defend Erin better? 

“Is anyone in here?” A woman's voice, echoing. I quieted even further, out of instinct. The last thing I needed was George to out me to everyone about this. More than likely though, he would use this against me to make me look guilty, guilty, guilty! 

The unknown speaker didn't speaker again, so I used this time to slowly blot the tears from my face. I exited the stall when I figured enough time had passed. Erin Grey was at the sink, catching me out.  
“Sorry,” I mumbled to her as I exited the ladies. 

“No, stop.” She stopped me just outside. “George was asking questions, but he got out of hand, not you and not me.” I gazed back at her despondently, my spirit broken. 

“I think Stark's gone blotto.” Erin looked surprised. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Then I told her how I knew. 

“I caught him passed out once.” She admitted. “When we were trying to get Ripley in on catching Luther out.” She added, lowering her voice even more, “Big liquor bottle on the table, him on the floor; Didn't take a rocket scientist.” She stopped me, eyed me earnestly, “I can make an anonymous report on your behalf to Shenk.” I wanted to shrink inside myself. “He'll have a separate meeting for you and I if he decides to. George had no right to be this obsessed over Luther – let alone seeing you when he was smashed.” 

Debating, more questioning? I felt sick, but realized she was right. I nodded, adding in that gruff hallow sort of voice I gave Shenk earlier, “Please. Make the report.” I stalked off toward where the room was. George was already standing against it, using the wall as a support. 

“Took you long enough.” He curtly stated. He opened the door in such a flourish that I knew he wasn't over my sudden walk out! I hated this man then, for having a childish outburst, being drunk on the job – making everyone see my flaws in return! I walked into the narrow room, not sitting right away. “Where is Erin?” He has his back to me, reaching up to the camera that, by law, was supposed to film all questions. 

Maybe packing her packs, you dick, I wanted to snarl at him. I held back, knowing most likely that she was meeting with Shenk, and I didn't want to make an ignoramus choice of bating him when he was drunk! “Don't know.” 

I realized, all too late what George was doing; He cut off the video, then the sound recorder that was at the table! My churning in my guts increased and I tensed, stalking back and forth, pacing! 

“Shouldn't we wait until she gets back?” I was stalling, knowing Shenk would be in tow.

“She's not your ruddy friend, nor your solicitor.” He growled out, turning around, now noticing I had not sat down. 

“Sit down.” I didn't feel safe with him in here, the open hostility.  
“You turned that stuff off; I want it on.” 

“You were told to sit down.” George was starting to bear his teeth. That fire had come back to his eyes, he was spoiling for a fight! I didn't know if it was to be words, or fists and it scared me.

“Like Hell I am.” I hadn't meant it to slip out, I really didn't. But that's thing the thing with my fearful attitude, it's gets me into trouble when I act rashly or hurried! 

“Sit the ruddy hell down, now!” He absolutely bellowed, louder than when he went off on Erin and I earlier! 

Frightened, all I could do was suddenly plop back down in my seat. George hadn't sat down, instead both arms braced on the table. He was breathing heavily, reminding me of a winded Rhino; livid! 

“I don't know anything else about John Luther-” 

He banged his right hand down on the table top quickly, then pointed his finger in my face angrily, “I have had it with you, Missy!” I stared desolately at DSU George Stark, realizing all-to-late that people had it wrong; He wasn't a bull-in-a-china shop, he was the end of the world! “All you people have done to me all night was to give me the run around! You think John Luther is some ruddy superhero!” He took a deep breath, hollered once more, “DCI John Luther is not a mythical hero, he's a corrupt copper and a disgrace!”

The door shot open with a bang, making even George jump! Shenk stood there, more livid than I remember ever seeing him. 

“What is going on here?” 

“He's shut all the recorders off!” I rattle out, frightened. I wanted to add that George is mental, but bit off the frightened observation, biting my lip so hard, so sudden, that I could taste blood.

“What the ruddy hell do you think you're doing?” George demanded of Shenk, hollering at him like he did me! I didn't want to be there; Hollering at Shenk was bad, very bad! “She knows something! Martin, she's defending a corrupt copper-” 

“You're supposed to be a grown up, for God's sake!” Shenk scolded George sharply. He wasn't entirely hollering, nowhere near like George, but this hard-as-steel tone. “Not scaring people into break downs, shouting them down, banging tables, nor turning off equipment required by the law! And certainly not ruddy drinking on the job!” I sat, mouth agape at Shenk's righteous tone as he laid down the law almighty on George Stark! 

George's voice was lowered, no longer shouting, but a dangerous sound, and I shivered, “And you believe Erin's word for it? About what happened earlier?” 

“By god, I do now; Hearing, and now seeing you act like a spoiled child.” He then added, making George shoot a molten, hate filled glare over his shoulder at me, “I will speak to your superiors about this, George. You might as well start packing your bags.” 

George left in a huff. Somewhere down the way there was a hideous banging shatter. Shenk didn't turn around, but closed his eyes in an expression of long suffering. He opened his eyes, looking on at me in sympathy.

“I am truly sorry for this, Orlando.” He spoke compassionately, “You, nor no one should have gone through this circus tonight.” He added, turning around to leave, “That man should not have been brought back from retirement. 

“Boss?” I ask. Shenk turned back towards me, “Is Erin going to be sacked?” I asked. 

“No, not when George was the instigator.” Shenk replied. I left the room with Shenk, feeling like I truly did age one hundred years! The few people left were shooting nervous glances down where George “The Whirlwind” Stark blew through! 

“Listen,” Shenk began, “The work that you were doing at your desk, leave it there, please. You can get on it in a couple of days.” 

“I can come in later.” 

“No, I am giving you a order, go to your flat for a couple of days – after this, you need it.” I nodded, saying thanks and bye, leaving.

On my way out, I found what George had smashed in his rage; The snack machine. The nearby rubbish bin was upended, the machine itself a centerpiece for the piles of snacks spilling out the front of the shattered glass facade. I shook my head, my expression mirroring Shenk's long-suffering one – then left the building!


End file.
